


Die Happy

by MaliceMargot



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternative Universe - Fight Club, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood and Injury, Choking, Coming Untouched, Fight Club - Freeform, Fighting, M/M, POV First Person, Rough Sex, There's a little bit of plot if you squint I guess, Too Little Prep, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, actual lube as lube, degradation kink, no beta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:29:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28909350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaliceMargot/pseuds/MaliceMargot
Summary: Living on Paper Street is both heaven and hell. The mind games reached their peak, and now it’s finally time for them to end.Contains two versions of the same fic.
Relationships: Josh Dun/Tyler Joseph
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Didn't know if I wanted Tyler as Tyler Durden or as The Narrator, so I did both! ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Honestly I just swapped things out lol
> 
> Chapter 1 for Durden!Josh/Top!Josh and Narrator!Tyler/Bottom!Tyler  
> Chapter 2 for Durden!Tyler/Top!Tyler and Narrator!Josh/Bottom!Josh
> 
> I obviously can’t write like Chuck Palahniuk duh, but I tried to keep it fairly consistent, as well as taking a few liberties to fit my own writing style :P  
> Also, this is my first published smut and writing sex in first person is really weird lol  
> I also would like to remember everyone that this isn't beta'd and that English isn't my first language and all that jazz  
> Hope you enjoy it :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just remembering, this chapter is for Top!Josh Bottom!Tyler

Living at the decaying house on Paper street with Josh Dun is heaven and hell at the same time. The water from the faucets is muddy, and the floors creak. The house is a living organism, wet and growing — gross to say the least. But on the other hand, I have him all for myself.

Just me.

And him.

In our spare time, we fight. Josh isn’t casual about it; he goes all out and fucks me up for good every time. At this point, my face is swollen and purple, but I don’t think it was supposed to be any other color.

But the truth is, sparring like this with Josh makes me feel alive. Pain, as ordinary as it seems to be now, gives me a high I only got from buying pointless IKEA furniture in the past. It’s almost laughable, Josh beats me up and I feel alive.

"You like this, don't you?" Josh asks.

I do. I smile while trying to get up from the ground. I’m missing a tooth, and I feel the gap with my tongue, tasting blood.

I'm dirty with mud, and I'm dirty with thoughts.

"You're fucked up," He says, crouching in front of me.

Josh grabs and lifts my face. He's rough, but he knows he doesn't need to be gentle with me. The smile on his face is wicked, it sends chills down my spine.

There's no one around to hear or see this. Isolated, the house on Paper Street is a safe haven from society, sobriety and, sanity.

I smile wider and spit on the mud. I can't see it, but I know it’s mostly just blood.

I'm Tyler's murky satisfaction.

"I know." I say.

* * *

Josh is about to recite the rules again. I quietly stand behind him, watching the scared new faces that appeared tonight. 

"The first rule about Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club,"

I shoot a toothy smile at a guy I've never seen before, poking my tongue through the hole of the missing tooth. The man next to him, a more familiar face, holds in a laugh.

"The second rule about Fight Club is: you _do not_ talk about Fight Club,"

Above us stands a miserable run-down bar, filthy in its own right and bleeding drunks in. But fighting makes you strong, fighting makes you use your body like it was meant to. You work out muscles you didn't know you had. Most alcoholics stop drinking, it gives you a new high and it gives you propose, just like Josh had given me one.

Josh finishes the rules and Fight Club officially starts.

Thirty minutes in and a newcomer twenty-something kid falls limp on the floor. The middle-aged man above him has defined muscles and a black eye, and he hits the kid's face like no tomorrow. Josh has to shoo him off.

I want to go next. I'm pumped, I'm high on the smell of sweat and blood on that tiny ass basement. I want to hit someone and split my knuckles.

I give a step ahead, ready. Josh stops me.

"You okay?" He asks, looking me dead in the eyes.

The room grows gradually silent, waiting on Josh's approval.

I know why he's asking; I'm messed up from our fight last night, but it's not like he really cares. Josh Dun doesn't care.

"I'm good," I say.

I've been better, but I'm not dead yet. So I'm good. Josh eyes me. Evaluating. He nods and the room starts to fill up with noise again. Then I'm out in the middle of the man-made ring, facing a guy in his mid to late twenties; blond and skinny; shaking like a leaf in the middle of a hurricane.

I want to wreck him.

No shirts, no shoes.

I hit the kid's face and he spits blood. I kick him on the side and he whines. My fists hurt and my muscles scream, but the adrenaline running through my veins is a high without comparison, so I keep it up.

I feel Josh's eyes on me, burning through my skin, invasive. I go all out, attacking like a lion. The boy's head hits the ground with a hollow thud, and then I punch, punch, punch. His body goes limp beneath me — _Deadweight_.

I look up and smile at Josh. There's blood dripping from my mouth and from my hands. He smiles back and the other guys are chanting, roaring with excitement.

"Get the kid out." Josh orders while helping me get up.

His hands are warm, softer than you would expect. I feel proud of myself.

I feel special.

* * *

It's the morning after and we're in the bathroom. I'm by the sink trying to patch up some wounds while Josh eyes me up and down from the door frame. I'm exhausted, bruised everywhere. I feel like he's trying to see through me, but I'm down to my boxers and don't know how much more transparent I can get.

"What?" I ask.

"Assessing the damage," Josh shrugs. "You were great last night. Fucked that kid up,"

Out of character. But I can't help but feel proud of myself.

"I'm a mess," I look up at him.

Josh licks his lips and offers me a devilish smirk.

"I know," He says.

I ignore Josh’s provocation as best as I can, I ignore this thing between us. It's always been here and sometimes I think he makes it worse on propose; pressing to see if I break, if I give in. But I won't give him the satisfaction.

"You should stay out of it tonight," Josh says, but It's not a suggestion.

He turns around and walks away. I try to convince myself that his request is nothing out of the ordinary, but my brain is foggy with pain, and I can't help feeling cared for.

* * *

I'm at the bar sitting by myself. I stay out of it. Fight Club is just below my feet and sometimes I can almost hear the cries from the basement. Up here there are many beaten up faces; resting from the action, but unable to stay away. Fight Club attracts like a magnet, it gives you a sense of belonging.

"Hey, man!"

No need to move to know It's Mark. He's a big softie, even his voice stands out like a sore thumb in this place. He takes a seat next to me. His face is fucked, I can barely make out his facial features, and I try not to cringe at how painful it looks.

"What you doing here? You look fine," Mark asks.

"Josh thinks I shouldn't fight today."

"Of course, of course," He laughs.

"What?" I don't see what's funny.

"I mean... You're kind of his protégé, right? You started this together," He gives me a playful look. "Some guys even think you're together. Together _Together_. As in fucking each other, you know?"

I savor his words; bitter. "I know. " I say. "And we're not,"

Mark shrugs.

"And he doesn't care," I add.

"If I were you, I would rethink that," He orders a shot of vodka. "If there's someone Josh cares about, that someone is you."

Mark shivers and hisses gulping down his drink. His mouth must be hurt on the inside too, and I take his suffering as a small revenge for making me go down on that subject.

* * *

We're at one of those expensive beauty salons sealing soap. The place is blindly white and smells like artificial lavender and something else that definitely should be classified as a biohazard. A place for the sterile, filthy rich.

The skinny chicks that live in places like this eat our soap up. Smooching their own fat on their expensive plastic faces. A sad existence for them, and a slightly amusing revenge for us. At least we make some money out of it.

The cheeky receptionist gives Josh a wide smile, her hazel eyes flickering with something. I stand off to the side and watch as she and Josh chat away about whatever Josh talks with the women we sell our soap to. I doze off for a second, and the next thing I see is the honey-eyed receptionist sliding a piece of paper, with her name and number, at Josh.

My blood boils, but I have no right.

"See you later," Josh winks at the receptionist and we leave.

The salon's exclusive parking lot is lined with expensive cars and I can spot our old dusty sedan from far away. Something tastes bitter in my mouth. I want to ruin all that polished shiny metal.

I'm seriously thinking about keying some of the cars, but before I can do anything, Josh elbows me hard on the side and I hit the side of an expensive SUV.

"What the _fuck_?" I whimper while Josh sandwiches me between his body and the car.

He presses. Leg purposefully against my crotch.

"Look at you... You're shit at hiding your jealousy," He mocks, looking down at me.

"Fuck off, " I try to push him away, but who am I kidding, I actually like it.

Josh holds my face. We're so fucking close, and I want to rip off that cocky grin of his face with my mouth. I want to ask what’s he going to do about my jealousy. What he's going to with that receptionist’s number.

We stay like that for a few seconds. Josh trying to see through me again.

"Sure." He backs away and keeps walking to the car.

Our ride home is as usual.

* * *

Josh is religiously reciting the rules and I stand behind him as per usual, carefully listening to his words. I’ve heard them so many times before that they are engraved in the back of my brain like a shitty memory from high school you just can’t forget. But even so, I listen, taking the more than familiar words in, preparing myself.

I haven't fought in a while. We haven't fought at all. I know Josh has a motive, an objective, but I'm far from knowing any of them. If anything, he’s just trying to torture me, and succeeding, of course. This is torture, so tonight I'm ready to fight and ready to release all this build-up frustration.

If this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight. And by the time we're finally out of newbies my blood is boiling with excitement. I feel every cubic centimeter of my body and I know Josh noticed it, he always fucking does.

I’m Tyler’s vicious anger.

I take a step forward and don’t wait for anyone’s reaction. Mark is here tonight, his face is better, so good in fact, that I can read all kinds of warning signs on his face, but I ignore him. I know exactly what I’m getting myself into.

The guy I’m fighting is a regular of Fight Club, and maybe he’s a bodybuilder or maybe he’s just ripped like that. Whatever it is, he’s known for being brutal, and that’s just what I need.

Josh gives the word and I don't waste any other second.

I swing my fist at the man’s face, and he takes the hit like it was nothing. The next second he throws me on the floor using both hands; I land on a half-dry pool of blood.

With the roars of the spectators, I get up, but the man promptly hits me on the stomach. I fold over and quiver. He punches me down, knocking me on the ground again. But this time I kick his knees and he falls too.

I prop myself up with my elbows. I’m high on adrenaline, I feel heavy, my breathing erratic, and Josh was the last thing on my mind until I see his shoe next to me. I look up to see his face, not caring for my adversary crawling his way to me.

Josh’s expression is unreadable.

I don’t see the punch, just feel the blow on my chin and taste the blood. My elbows give in and I fall once again. Eyes locked on Josh.

Josh frowns, and I feel the weight of my opponent on me, he’s sitting on my hips, trapping me between his legs ready to give my face some more hits. I feel my nose start to bleed on the first punch, and on the second one, I feel my lips curling up. Josh looks mad. I’m fully smiling by the third punch, and I can’t feel the fourth one, because there’s no fourth punch, there’s only Josh kicking the man off of me. I pick myself up from the ground, the cries from the crowd are just white noise on my ears.

Josh’s hitting the man like an animal, breaking his own rules. And I’ve never felt so satisfied in my entire life.

* * *

Fight Club ends earlier than usual because of Josh’s anger fit towards the guy I was fighting. The man screamed for him to stop, but Josh ignored, and when he fainted and Josh kept beating him down, people started to worry, but no one dared to stop Josh Dun. An unfair fight. When Josh finished only silence remained in the basement together with a couple dozen faces staring in awe; looking at the scene in pure disbelief and shock.

Mark took the initiative and ended up dragging the unconscious man to the nearest hospital with a couple other guys, just as Josh dragged me to the car and started driving.

“So much to see me break,” I say. “And you gave in first,”

The windows are open and the wind hits my face without mercy. I can feel my whole face pulsating with pain, but, on the inside, I'm in pure bliss.

Seeing Josh lose control, was better than actually fighting him.

A swift vengeance.

“What you did was stupid,” Josh says.

He is right, but that doesn’t ride me down from the high of triumph.

“Fuck you.” Is the last thing I say before I blackout.

* * *

I wake up on my bed. Sun on my face and feeling the most pain I’ve had felt in a while. For a moment I think about staying in bed, comfortable and warm, or as comfortable and warm as one can get after having their ass kicked. But as inviting as it is, I get up. Last night was a point out of the curve, Josh would never give in so easily and so deliberately. And as stubborn as he is, he’ll probably disappear for a few days and come back pretending nothing ever happened.

Stupid of me to think I could ever predict Josh.

I walk around and find him in the kitchen. Gloves and safety glasses on, shirt off, messing around with the chemicals we use on our soap. He has his back to me, stirring a big boiling pot on the stove. He could just as well be stirring my melted brain inside my skull.

“Sit down.” He says without turning.

I wonder if he will burn me with lye again.

A few minutes drag along. I dead stare at the table waiting for something, anything, until a utensil covered with something sticky like syrup slides in my field of vision and on the table in front of me. My mouth is dry. Josh half sits on the table and looks at me like he wants to pour whatever he was boiling on the stove on my face.

“What?” I spit out knowing there’s no right thing to say.

Josh grabs my face, and I flinch, trying to get away; but his grip is strong and I’m already at my limit from yesterday. I shut my eyes as I try to prepare myself for whatever is to come. I feel his breath on my face and a shiver crawls up my spine in anticipation.

The sudden feel of Josh’s lips on mine burns just like lye.

Hot and tingly, almost unbearable, but just almost. He knows, he takes my lips as roughly as he would punch me. When Josh’s hand travels from my face to my throat I don’t fight it, my body relaxes, I melt.

“If you weren't so wrecked, I'd fuck you,” He says when our lips disconnect.

A groan soul-deep escapes my partially restricted throat. Pride tossed aside, I shove any and every rational thought out of my conscious mind. Lust is a dangerous thing.

“Do it,” I say. I beg. “You know I can take it,”

“Why?”

Cause you won’t do it later, I want to say, but I don’t. Josh seems to hear it anyway.

He considers. For as reckless as he seems, Josh is actually a careful planner, even though his choices and plans are far from being adequate. But if he was actually tired of our little game, this is the time and way to end it.

The unattended pot on the stove is boiling out of control, filling the room with steam and an uncharacteristic sweet smell. I'm just as out of control, but I keep my boiling on the inside as Josh slides and presses a finger on my lips. I’m about to boil over.

I’m Tyler’s yearning desire.

Josh drags and pushes me up the stairs. I almost step on a dislodged nail and almost fall. We pass the door to his bedroom, he pushes me onto the bed and, despite the softness of the mattress, I still groan out of pain and really consider forgetting this whole ordeal. But then Josh appears above me with dark lustful eyes, and I’m magically out of doubts again.

Josh straddles me like the guy from last night, and an unconscious reflex washes over me; I close my eyes, waiting for that one punch that didn’t hit. But all I feel is Josh’s hands lifting up my shirt up like he actually meant to rip it off.

“Don’t even think about doing something like that again,” Josh hisses, pressing on my bruised ribs. “You look like shit,”

“I thought you liked me bruised up,”

“Not this fucking much,”

Josh kisses me, sloppy and impatient. His fingers intertwine with my hair, he pulls it, tight and strong — enough to hurt just a little. My hips move on their own, desperately looking for touch.

"God," Josh comments. "You really are sick,"

Something escapes my lips as my mouth falls open and my eyes roll to the back of my skull — Maybe my soul. Josh lets out a laugh.

This right here is the point of no return. The status quo of our relationship has collapsed. We're diving headfirst into unknown territory, changing something forever. But then again, it doesn't matter, we can handle whatever is thrown at us because it just doesn't fucking matter.

And if there's anything that has any importance at all, this is it.

Me and Josh.

"Maybe we should appear holding hands next weekend," Josh leans down, starting his assault on my neck. "Do you think they will be impressed? Maybe I should just bend you over and fuck you in front of them,"

He continues further down, dragging his teeth down my stomach to my hips, my muscles contract and relax, and I can feel Josh's smile on my skin. I know I should hold on more tightly to the little pride I have left, but after waiting so long for this, I don't think I could control myself even if I tried.

"Don't worry," his voice is low and acid while he pulls my pants down. "I won't hurt you any more than the necessary,"

He finishes undressing me and leaves for a moment. I'm delirious waiting, suffocated in anticipation. I want to tear off my skin and I want Josh to crawl inside me. He comes back and turns me around, laying on my stomach. Josh's mattress is infinitely better than mine, and for a moment, I relax, drowned in the so rare moment of comfort until Josh shoves a lube-drenched finger inside me.

"Shit..." I hiss. Pathetic, I admit, but it has been a long time since the last time I did this.

Saying I don't masturbate would be a lie, and saying I don't do it thinking about Josh would be even more dishonest. But really getting laid is the kind of thing that I long left behind, together with my mountain of IKEA furniture and endless flights. For now, I try to look beyond the pain and focus on how Josh is being especially kind, careful. Hand on the small of my back, pinning me down while his fingers fuck me. All things I want to remember and maybe use as blackmail later if it comes to it.

"You're tighter than that receptionist whore. Remember her?" Josh teases.

I see red and try to crawl out of Josh's hands, but he isn't taking none of it, he holds me and turns me around again. He kisses and kisses me, and he drags his nails down my body and squeezes my tights so hard it leaves red crescent-shaped marks behind. He pushes his fingers inside me again, and I forget what he said before; I'm a mess of moans and gasps, and Josh has that devilish smirk on his face. All I can think about is how much I want him to fuck me already.

I didn't manage to say anything, but the look on my face must have been enough for Josh to understand what I wanted. He laughed and finally started to undress.

It's a godsent vision. His abs, his tattoos, his scars. Josh has bruises, but somehow, they're so much more elegant than mine. It’s probably the high of arousal, but the fucker manages to look hot even when he is hurt, and hotter when he is hurt _and_ horny.

I prop myself up on my elbows, a chill runs down my spine, and I let my head fall back. Just the sight of his dick sends me into a spiral. I try to calm down, but I'm in a frenzy. It’s too overwhelming, and I can't take this goddam smile out of my face. I feel like a madman.

"Fuck... Fuck..." I let a little laugh escape.

Josh lifts one of my legs, and I'm so fucking ready. Without warning, Josh pushes his cock inside me, deep. I close my eyes and see stars. He doesn't wait for me to recover, just starts moving like the fucking machine he is. And to be honest, I'm okay with that. It's exactly what I always wanted.

"We waited too long..." Josh says, his voice clouded.

I know what he meant, we should have been fucking since the beginning, since the very first day. But we didn't, and I'm not really opposed to making up for the lost time. As long as he keeps fucking me like this I don't mind. I don’t mind at all.

My ass burns and my dick bobs up and down my stomach, forgotten. I hold onto the thin sheets. “Fuck. Motherfucker… Josh…” I hear them ripping.

“What? Aren’t you enjoying yourself?” He asks. “You asked for this, didn’t you?” He pounds harder. “Should’ve known your weak ass couldn’t take it,”

I hear myself moan as tears start to roll of my eyes. Delirious.

“Want me to talk down on you more?” He laughs, abruptly stopping. “Come on,” Josh bends down, using his free hand to grab my neck and squeezes it.

He slides almost all out and slams back in with a force of a freight train, nailing my prostate in the process. No amount of humidity ruined magazines about anatomy can describe it. Shit, not even my fingers can give what he’s giving me right now.

“That’s more like it,” Josh growls, picking up the pace again.

He’s squeezing the life out of me; I’m seeing black around the edges, and when I think I can’t take it anymore, he releases me and starts fucking my mouth with his fingers. I gasp around them and choke on my own saliva.

In the back of my mind, I think that I may be in love with Josh Dun.

My cock is leaking like the many faulty faucets around the house. The only thing keeping it going is Josh’s hammering of my ass and the little amount of friction between our bodies. I don’t think I’ve ever cummed untouched before.

“Let’s try then,” Josh suggests, and I can feel my balls tighten.

Josh kisses me and fucks me impossibly harder, making the flimsy house shake, old plaster falling from the calling. My mind is blissfully blank, and I can barely hear Josh’s words, he’s saying something, calling me names, whatever the fuck. I can feel it building up. I’m tense like a fucking Hitchcock movie – My ass is the victim, and Josh is both the murderer and the main character.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I repeated through gritted teeth along with his rhythm. It’s actually happening.

“Such a cock slut. Come on, cum for me,” Josh laughs, dark and manic.

I’m Tyler’s white-hot orgasm.

I come undone too sudden and too fucking bright, a full-body thing that, if I didn’t know better, I would call a religious experience. In a way, Josh is God.

I white out for a few seconds, high on an orgasm induced bliss too good to be true, and come back to Josh pulling my hair, his face curled up in a snarl. He’s close; I can feel it in his dick pulsating inside me. He grabs my hips hard enough to bruise and slams into me once more.

“FUCK!” He yells, throwing his head back as he cums deep inside me.

Josh is God, and this is paradise.

* * *

Josh just finished reciting the rules again. The basement is roaring with both newcomers and old faces. The smell of mold, sweat, and old blood is more than an old friend now, it’s warm and welcoming.

The second fight of the night is between Josh and some new kid. I watch from the sidelines as he plays with the boy, letting him have the upper hand for a few minutes, granting himself a light injure on the left cheekbone and a bleeding nose. But soon enough, Josh beat the boy down to reality, making him tap out.

“Nice fight,” I say as Josh appears with two beer bottles in hand.

“You just trying to get into my pants,” He mocks, offering me one.

We’re far in the back, more or less removed from the main event, but still very much in public. I remember our first fight; getting drunk on that stupid bar and fighting on the parking lot like two crazy alcoholics. Josh has always been the superior presence, everything I wanted to be. Untouchable.

I grab Josh’s face and lick the blood trickling from his nose down his lips.

Nothing changes; the fight goes on in the background, not a gasp or odd look. I’m sure some people saw it. But who are they to say anything anyway?

“You have more balls than I give you credit for,” Josh smiles, and it's genuine. “You’re really fucked up,”

I smile back and let go of his face, drinking the beer and the view in front of us; this thing we have created, the things we have destroyed in the process.

I'm Tyler's dazzling satisfaction.

“I know.” I say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ty for reading? I'm in no way shape or form proud of this lol Just really needed to clear it out of my WIPs or else it would die there forgotten :P


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just remembering, this chapter is for Top!Tyler Bottom!Josh

Living at the decaying house on Paper street with Tyler Joseph is heaven and hell at the same time. The water from the faucets is muddy, and the floors creak. The house is a living organism, wet and growing — gross to say the least. But on the other hand, I have him all for myself.

Just me.

And him.

In our spare time, we fight. Tyler isn’t casual about it; he goes all out and fucks me up for good every time. At this point, my face is swollen and purple, but I don’t think it was supposed to be any other color.

But the truth is, sparring like this with Tyler makes me feel alive. Pain, as ordinary as it seems to be now, gives me a high I only got from buying pointless IKEA furniture in the past. It’s almost laughable, Tyler beats me up and I feel alive.

"You like this, don't you?" Tyler asks.

I do. I smile while trying to get up from the ground. I’m missing a tooth, and I feel the gap with my tongue, tasting blood.

I'm dirty with mud, and I'm dirty with thoughts.

"You're fucked up," He says, crouching in front of me.

Tyler grabs and lifts my face. He's rough, but he knows he doesn't need to be gentle with me. The smile on his face is wicked, it sends chills down my spine.

There's no one around to hear or see this. Isolated, the house on Paper Street is a safe haven from society, sobriety and, sanity.

I smile wider and spit on the mud. I can't see it, but I know it’s mostly just blood.

I'm Josh's murky satisfaction.

"I know." I say.

* * *

Tyler is about to recite the rules again. I quietly stand behind him, watching the scared new faces that appeared tonight. 

"The first rule about Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club,"

I shoot a toothy smile at a guy I've never seen before, poking my tongue through the hole of the missing tooth. The man next to him, a more familiar face, holds in a laugh.

"The second rule about Fight Club is: you _do not_ talk about Fight Club,"

Above us stands a miserable run-down bar, filthy in its own right and bleeding drunks in. But fighting makes you strong, fighting makes you use your body like it was meant to. You work out muscles you didn't know you had. Most alcoholics stop drinking, it gives you a new high and it gives you propose, just like Tyler had given me one.

Tyler finishes the rules and Fight Club officially starts.

Thirty minutes in and a newcomer twenty-something kid falls limp on the floor. The middle-aged man above him has defined muscles and a black eye, and he hits the kid's face like no tomorrow. Tyler has to shoo him off.

I want to go next. I'm pumped, I'm high on the smell of sweat and blood on that tiny ass basement. I want to hit someone and split my knuckles.

I give a step ahead, ready. Tyler stops me.

"You okay?" He asks, looking me dead in the eyes.

The room grows gradually silent, waiting on Tyler's approval.

I know why he's asking; I'm messed up from our fight last night, but it's not like he really cares. Tyler Joseph doesn't care.

"I'm good," I say.

I've been better, but I'm not dead yet. So I'm good. Tyler eyes me. Evaluating. He nods and the room starts to fill up with noise again. Then I'm out in the middle of the man-made ring, facing a guy in his mid to late twenties; blond and skinny; shaking like a leaf in the middle of a hurricane.

I want to wreck him.

No shirts, no shoes.

I hit the kid's face and he spits blood. I kick him on the side and he whines. My fists hurt and my muscles scream, but the adrenaline running through my veins is a high without comparison, so I keep it up.

I feel Tyler's eyes on me, burning through my skin, invasive. I go all out, attacking like a lion. The boy's head hits the ground with a hollow thud, and then I punch, punch, punch. His body goes limp beneath me — _Deadweight_.

I look up and smile at Tyler. There's blood dripping from my mouth and from my hands. He smiles back and the other guys are chanting, roaring with excitement.

"Get the kid out." Tyler orders while helping me get up.

His hands are warm, softer than you would expect. I feel proud of myself.

I feel special.

* * *

It's the morning after and we're in the bathroom. I'm by the sink trying to patch up some wounds while Tyler eyes me up and down from the door frame. I'm exhausted, bruised everywhere. I feel like he's trying to see through me, but I'm down to my boxers and don't know how much more transparent I can get.

"What?" I ask.

"Assessing the damage," Tyler shrugs. "You were great last night. Fucked that kid up,"

Out of character. But I can't help but feel proud of myself.

"I'm a mess," I look up at him.

Tyler licks his lips and offers me a devilish smirk.

"I know," He says.

I ignore Tyler’s provocation as best as I can, I ignore this thing between us. It's always been here and sometimes I think he makes it worse on propose; pressing to see if I break, if I give in. But I won't give him the satisfaction.

"You should stay out of it tonight," Tyler says, but It's not a suggestion.

He turns around and walks away. I try to convince myself that his request is nothing out of the ordinary, but my brain is foggy with pain, and I can't help feeling cared for.

* * *

I'm at the bar sitting by myself. I stay out of it. Fight Club is just below my feet and sometimes I can almost hear the cries from the basement. Up here there are many beaten up faces; resting from the action, but unable to stay away. Fight Club attracts like a magnet, it gives you a sense of belonging.

"Hey, man!"

No need to move to know It's Mark. He's a big softie, even his voice stands out like a sore thumb in this place. He takes a seat next to me. His face is fucked, I can barely make out his facial features, and I try not to cringe at how painful it looks.

"What you doing here? You look fine," Mark asks.

"Tyler thinks I shouldn't fight today."

"Of course, of course," He laughs.

"What?" I don't see what's funny.

"I mean... You're kind of his protégé, right? You started this together," He gives me a playful look. "Some guys even think you're together. Together _Together_. As in fucking each other, you know?"

I savor his words; bitter. "I know. " I say. "And we're not,"

Mark shrugs.

"And he doesn't care," I add.

"If I were you, I would rethink that," He orders a shot of vodka. "If there's someone Tyler cares about, that someone is you."

Mark shivers and hisses gulping down his drink. His mouth must be hurt on the inside too, and I take his suffering as a small revenge for making me go down on that subject.

* * *

We're at one of those expensive beauty salons sealing soap. The place is blindly white and smells like artificial lavender and something else that definitely should be classified as a biohazard. A place for the sterile, filthy rich.

The skinny chicks that live in places like this eat our soap up. Smooching their own fat on their expensive plastic faces. A sad existence for them, and a slightly amusing revenge for us. At least we make some money out of it.

The cheeky receptionist gives Tyler a wide smile, her blue eyes flickering with something. I stand off to the side and watch as she and Tyler chat away about whatever Tyler talks with the women we sell our soap to. I doze off for a second, and the next thing I see is the blue-eyed receptionist sliding a piece of paper, with her name and number, at Tyler.

My blood boils, but I have no right.

"See you later," Tyler winks at the receptionist and we leave.

The salon's exclusive parking lot is lined with expensive cars and I can spot our old dusty sedan from far away. Something tastes bitter in my mouth. I want to ruin all that polished shiny metal.

I'm seriously thinking about keying some of the cars, but before I can do anything, Tyler elbows me hard on the side and I hit the side of an expensive SUV.

"What the _fuck_?" I whimper while Tyler sandwiches me between his body and the car.

He presses. Leg purposefully against my crotch.

"Look at you... You're shit at hiding your jealousy," He mocks, looking down at me.

"Fuck off," I try to push him away, but who am I kidding, I actually like it.

Tyler holds my face. We're so fucking close, and I want to rip off that cocky grin of his face with my mouth. I want to ask what’s he going to do about my jealousy. What he's going to with that receptionist’s number.

We stay like that for a few seconds. Tyler trying to see through me again.

"Sure." He backs away and keeps walking to the car.

Our ride home is as usual.

* * *

Tyler is religiously reciting the rules and I stand behind him as per usual, carefully listening to his words. I’ve heard them so many times before that they are engraved in the back of my brain like a shitty memory from high school you just can’t forget. But even so, I listen, taking the more than familiar words in, preparing myself.

I haven't fought in a while. We haven't fought at all. I know Tyler has a motive, an objective, but I'm far from knowing any of them. If anything, he’s just trying to torture me, and succeeding, of course. This is torture, so tonight I'm ready to fight and ready to release all this build-up frustration.

If this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight. And by the time we're finally out of newbies my blood is boiling with excitement. I feel every cubic centimeter of my body and I know Tyler noticed it, he always fucking does.

I’m Josh’s vicious anger.

I take a step forward and don’t wait for anyone’s reaction. Mark is here tonight, his face is better, so good in fact, that I can read all kinds of warning signs on his face, but I ignore him. I know exactly what I’m getting myself into.

The guy I’m fighting is a regular of Fight Club, and maybe he’s a bodybuilder or maybe he’s just ripped like that. Whatever it is, he’s known for being brutal, and that’s just what I need.

Tyler gives the word and I don't waste any other second.

I swing my fist at the man’s face, and he takes the hit like it was nothing. The next second he throws me on the floor using both hands; I land on a half-dry pool of blood.

With the roars of the spectators, I get up, but the man promptly hits me on the stomach. I fold over and quiver. He punches me down, knocking me on the ground again. But this time I kick his knees and he falls too.

I prop myself up with my elbows. I’m high on adrenaline, I feel heavy, my breathing erratic, and Tyler was the last thing on my mind until I see his shoe next to me. I look up to see his face, not caring for my adversary crawling his way to me.

Tyler’s expression is unreadable.

I don’t see the punch, just feel the blow on my chin and taste the blood. My elbows give in and I fall once again. Eyes locked on Tyler.

Tyler frowns, and I feel the weight of my opponent on me, he’s sitting on my hips, trapping me between his legs ready to give my face some more hits. I feel my nose start to bleed on the first punch, and on the second one, I feel my lips curling up. Tyler looks mad. I’m fully smiling by the third punch, and I can’t feel the fourth one, because there’s no fourth punch, there’s only Tyler kicking the man off of me. I pick myself up from the ground, the cries from the crowd are just white noise on my ears.

Tyler’s hitting the man like an animal, breaking his own rules. And I’ve never felt so satisfied in my entire life.

* * *

Fight Club ends earlier than usual because of Tyler’s anger fit towards the guy I was fighting. The man screamed for him to stop, but Tyler ignored, and when he fainted and Tyler kept beating him down, people started to worry, but no one dared to stop Tyler Joseph. An unfair fight. When Tyler finished only silence remained in the basement together with a couple dozen faces staring in awe; looking at the scene in pure disbelief and shock.

Mark took the initiative and ended up dragging the unconscious man to the nearest hospital with a couple other guys, just as Tyler dragged me to the car and started driving.

“So much to see me break,” I say. “And you gave in first,”

The windows are open and the wind hits my face without mercy. I can feel my whole face pulsating with pain, but, on the inside, I'm in pure bliss.

Seeing Tyler lose control, was better than actually fighting him.

A swift vengeance.

“What you did was stupid,” Tyler says.

He is right, but that doesn’t ride me down from the high of triumph.

“Fuck you.” Is the last thing I say before I blackout.

* * *

I wake up on my bed. Sun on my face and feeling the most pain I’ve had felt in a while. For a moment I think about staying in bed, comfortable and warm, or as comfortable and warm as one can get after having their ass kicked. But as inviting as it is, I get up. Last night was a point out of the curve, Tyler would never give in so easily and so deliberately. And as stubborn as he is, he’ll probably disappear for a few days and come back pretending nothing ever happened.

Stupid of me to think I could ever predict Tyler.

I walk around and find him in the kitchen. Gloves and safety glasses on, shirt off, messing around with the chemicals we use on our soap. He has his back to me, stirring a big boiling pot on the stove. He could just as well be stirring my melted brain inside my skull.

“Sit down.” He says without turning.

I wonder if he will burn me with lye again.

A few minutes drag along. I dead stare at the table waiting for something, anything, until a utensil covered with something sticky like syrup slides in my field of vision and on the table in front of me. My mouth is dry. Tyler half sits on the table and looks at me like he wants to pour whatever he was boiling on the stove on my face.

“What?” I spit out knowing there’s no right thing to say.

Tyler grabs my face, and I flinch, trying to get away; but his grip is strong and I’m already at my limit from yesterday. I shut my eyes as I try to prepare myself for whatever is to come. I feel his breath on my face and a shiver crawls up my spine in anticipation.

The sudden feel of Tyler’s lips on mine burns just like lye.

Hot and tingly, almost unbearable, but just almost. He knows, he takes my lips as roughly as he would punch me. When Tyler’s hand travels from my face to my throat I don’t fight it, my body relaxes, I melt.

“If you weren't so wrecked, I'd fuck you,” He says when our lips disconnect.

A groan soul-deep escapes my partially restricted throat. Pride tossed aside, I shove any and every rational thought out of my conscious mind. Lust is a dangerous thing.

“Do it,” I say. I beg. “You know I can take it,”

“Why?”

Cause you won’t do it later, I want to say, but I don’t. Tyler seems to hear it anyway.

He considers. For as reckless as he seems, Tyler is actually a careful planner, even though his choices and plans are far from being adequate. But if he was actually tired of our little game, this is the time and way to end it.

The unattended pot on the stove is boiling out of control, filling the room with steam and an uncharacteristic sweet smell. I'm just as out of control, but I keep my boiling on the inside as Tyler slides and presses a finger on my lips. I’m about to boil over.

I’m Josh’s yearning desire.

Tyler drags and pushes me up the stairs. I almost step on a dislodged nail and almost fall. We pass the door to his bedroom, he pushes me onto the bed and, despite the softness of the mattress, I still groan out of pain and really consider forgetting this whole ordeal. But then Tyler appears above me with dark lustful eyes, and I’m magically out of doubts again.

Tyler straddles me like the guy from last night, and an unconscious reflex washes over me; I close my eyes, waiting for that one punch that didn’t hit. But all I feel is Tyler’s hands lifting up my shirt up like he actually meant to rip it off.

“Don’t even think about doing something like that again,” Tyler hisses, pressing on my bruised ribs. “You look like shit,”

“I thought you liked me bruised up,”

“Not this fucking much,”

Tyler kisses me, sloppy and impatient. His fingers intertwine with my hair, he pulls it, tight and strong — enough to hurt just a little. My hips move on their own, desperately looking for touch.

"God," Tyler comments. "You really are sick,"

Something escapes my lips as my mouth falls open and my eyes roll to the back of my skull — Maybe my soul. Tyler lets out a laugh.

This right here is the point of no return. The status quo of our relationship has collapsed. We're diving headfirst into unknown territory, changing something forever. But then again, it doesn't matter, we can handle whatever is thrown at us because it just doesn't fucking matter.

And if there's anything that has any importance at all, this is it.

Me and Tyler.

"Maybe we should appear holding hands next weekend," Tyler leans down, starting his assault on my neck. "Do you think they will be impressed? Maybe I should just bend you over and fuck you in front of them,"

He continues further down, dragging his teeth down my stomach to my hips, my muscles contract and relax, and I can feel Tyler's smile on my skin. I know I should hold on more tightly to the little pride I have left, but after waiting so long for this, I don't think I could control myself even if I tried.

"Don't worry," his voice is low and acid while he pulls my pants down. "I won't hurt you any more than the necessary,"

He finishes undressing me and leaves for a moment. I'm delirious waiting, suffocated in anticipation. I want to tear off my skin and I want Tyler to crawl inside me. He comes back and turns me around, laying on my stomach. Tyler's mattress is infinitely better than mine, and for a moment, I relax, drowned in the so rare moment of comfort until Tyler shoves a lube-drenched finger inside me.

"Shit..." I hiss. Pathetic, I admit, but it has been a long time since the last time I did this.

Saying I don't masturbate would be a lie, and saying I don't do it thinking about Tyler would be even more dishonest. But really getting laid is the kind of thing that I long left behind, together with my mountain of IKEA furniture and endless flights. For now, I try to look beyond the pain and focus on how Tyler is being especially kind, careful. Hand on the small of my back, pinning me down while his fingers fuck me. All things I want to remember and maybe use as blackmail later if it comes to it.

"You're tighter than that receptionist whore. Remember her?" Tyler teases.

I see red and try to crawl out of Tyler's hands, but he isn't taking none of it, he holds me and turns me around again. He kisses and kisses me, and he drags his nails down my body and squeezes my tights so hard it leaves red crescent-shaped marks behind. He pushes his fingers inside me again, and I forget what he said before; I'm a mess of moans and gasps, and Tyler has that devilish smirk on his face. All I can think about is how much I want him to fuck me already.

I didn't manage to say anything, but the look on my face must have been enough for Tyler to understand what I wanted. He laughed and finally started to undress.

It's a godsent vision. His abs, his tattoos, his scars. Tyler has bruises, but somehow, they're so much more elegant than mine. It’s probably the high of arousal, but the fucker manages to look hot even when he is hurt, and hotter when he is hurt _and_ horny.

I prop myself up on my elbows, a chill runs down my spine, and I let my head fall back. Just the sight of his dick sends me into a spiral. I try to calm down, but I'm in a frenzy. It’s too overwhelming, and I can't take this goddam smile out of my face. I feel like a madman.

"Fuck... Fuck..." I let a little laugh escape.

Tyler lifts one of my legs, and I'm so fucking ready. Without warning, Tyler pushes his cock inside me, deep. I close my eyes and see stars. He doesn't wait for me to recover, just starts moving like the fucking machine he is. And to be honest, I'm okay with that. It's exactly what I always wanted.

"We waited too long..." Tyler says, his voice clouded.

I know what he meant, we should have been fucking since the beginning, since the very first day. But we didn't, and I'm not really opposed to making up for the lost time. As long as he keeps fucking me like this I don't mind. I don’t mind at all.

My ass burns and my dick bobs up and down my stomach, forgotten. I hold onto the thin sheets. “Fuck. Motherfucker… Tyler…” I hear them ripping.

“What? Aren’t you enjoying yourself?” He asks. “You asked for this, didn’t you?” He pounds harder. “Should’ve known your weak ass couldn’t take it,”

I hear myself moan as tears start to roll of my eyes. Delirious.

“Want me to talk down on you more?” He laughs, abruptly stopping. “Come on,” Tyler bends down, using his free hand to grab my neck and squeezes it.

He slides almost all out and slams back in with a force of a freight train, nailing my prostate in the process. No amount of humidity ruined magazines about anatomy can describe it. Shit, not even my fingers can give what he’s giving me right now.

“That’s more like it,” Tyler growls, picking up the pace again.

He’s squeezing the life out of me; I’m seeing black around the edges, and when I think I can’t take it anymore, he releases me and starts fucking my mouth with his fingers. I gasp around them and choke on my own saliva.

In the back of my mind, I think that I may be in love with Tyler Joseph.

My cock is leaking like the many faulty faucets around the house. The only thing keeping it going is Tyler’s hammering of my ass and the little amount of friction between our bodies. I don’t think I’ve ever cummed untouched before.

“Let’s try then,” Tyler suggests, and I can feel my balls tighten.

Tyler kisses me and fucks me impossibly harder, making the flimsy house shake, old plaster falling from the calling. My mind is blissfully blank, and I can barely hear Tyler’s words, he’s saying something, calling me names, whatever the fuck. I can feel it building up. I’m tense like a fucking Hitchcock movie – My ass is the victim, and Tyler is both the murderer and the main character.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I repeated through gritted teeth along with his rhythm. It’s actually happening.

“Such a cock slut. Come on, cum for me,” Tyler laughs, dark and manic.

I’m Josh’s white-hot orgasm.

I come undone too sudden and too fucking bright, a full-body thing that, if I didn’t know better, I would call a religious experience. In a way, Tyler is God.

I white out for a few seconds, high on an orgasm induced bliss too good to be true, and come back to Tyler pulling my hair, his face curled up in a snarl. He’s close; I can feel it in his dick pulsating inside me. He grabs my hips hard enough to bruise and slams into me once more.

“FUCK!” He yells, throwing his head back as he cums deep inside me.

Tyler is God, and this is paradise.

* * *

Tyler just finished reciting the rules again. The basement is roaring with both newcomers and old faces. The smell of mold, sweat, and old blood is more than an old friend now, it’s warm and welcoming.

The second fight of the night is between Tyler and some new kid. I watch from the sidelines as he plays with the boy, letting him have the upper hand for a few minutes, granting himself a light injure on the left cheekbone and a bleeding nose. But soon enough, Tyler beat the boy down to reality, making him tap out.

“Nice fight,” I say as Tyler appears with two beer bottles in hand.

“You just trying to get into my pants,” He mocks, offering me one.

We’re far in the back, more or less removed from the main event, but still very much in public. I remember our first fight; getting drunk on that stupid bar and fighting on the parking lot like two crazy alcoholics. Tyler has always been the superior presence, everything I wanted to be. Untouchable.

I grab Tyler’s face and lick the blood trickling from his nose down his lips.

Nothing changes; the fight goes on in the background, not a gasp or odd look. I’m sure some people saw it. But who are they to say anything anyway?

“You have more balls than I give you credit for,” Tyler smiles, and it's genuine. “You’re really fucked up,”

I smile back and let go of his face, drinking the beer and the view in front of us; this thing we have created, the things we have destroyed in the process.

I'm Josh's dazzling satisfaction.

“I know.” I say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ty for reading? I'm in no way shape or form proud of this lol Just really needed to clear it out of my WIPs or else it would die there forgotten :P


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